


My Life On My Skin

by Cleo



Category: The Losers, The Losers (2010), The Losers (Comic), The Losers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Magical Tattoos, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-02
Updated: 2014-02-02
Packaged: 2018-01-10 20:44:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1164329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cleo/pseuds/Cleo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone is born with a living tattoo. They foretell what a person is destined for and change as circumstances change. Sometimes they forewarn and others times they just are. Each one unique to the person whose skin they reside on. Here’s the tale of the life of Franklin Clay as represented on his skin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Life On My Skin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Chibifukurou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chibifukurou/gifts).



> This came about after reading a drabble written on [tumblr](http://wiggleofjudas.tumblr.com/post/70428954346/tattoolock-for-queersherlockian) that discussed an AU where tattoos changed. I took the idea and ran with it.
> 
> If you squint you might see Clay/Roque and Jensen/Cougar.
> 
> Thanks goes out to Matilda36 and [BootsnBlossoms](http://archiveofourown.org/users/BootsnBlossoms) (go check out her stuff it's utterly awesome.)

“He’s got no markings, Paul. Just that tiny little death’s head on the inside of his right arm. Does that mean he won’t survive?” Marion Clay asked her husband, looking at their premature son through the glass of the intensive care unit for newborns.

Paul Clay pulled his wife into what he hoped was a comforting embrace. He didn’t do public displays of affection, but this was an exception to the rule. He rested his cheek on top of her head where it was tucked against his shoulder as they both watched the bustle around their son. “I don’t know Marion. You know what they say. We don’t always understand the marks until the event they represent has already passed.”

“But it’s a death’s head; that means death. That’s a clear enough meaning if there ever was one, Paul,” Marion argued. “We can’t lose him Paul. It’s been so hard the whole time. We’ve come too far for us not to get to keep him.” She cried into her husband’s shoulder.

“Come on, Mare, you need your rest too. We both do.” Paul turned them away from the glass window and guided his wife back toward her room. “If it’s meant to be he’ll survive. He’ll be even more special because of it. He’ll do great things with his life, too.” He wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince with those words. He just knew they had to be true. He didn’t want to lose his son just yet without seeing the man he’d become.

Two weeks later they brought home their son Franklin Clay. The child had another marking on him, one of a mule on his left thigh. His parents took it as a sign that their child would be stubborn and strong-willed and knew that they had their work cut out for them in raising him. The death’s head remained and its presence worried his parents that death stalked their son. Each day they feared it would claim what it was cheated of.

***************

Franklin Clay grew and thrived. Like his parents expected, Frank was stubborn and strong-willed. He didn’t like backing down from a challenge and especially hated when someone told him he couldn’t do something. By the time he entered high school he looked older than he actually was. This made it easier for him to slip into hanging out with the older crowd. They were not always the best influence on him.  

A month before Franklin Clay’s fourteenth birthday a new mark appeared. It was the tarot card, The Lovers, except the background for the lover’s embrace was an erupting volcano. A week after his fourteenth birthday Frank Clay lost his virginity behind the bleachers during a football game to the head cheerleader.

Frank saw Marissa Clemens standing near the basketball courts on his way home. He remembered their meeting under the bleachers and was confident in his approach. He’d never done anything like it before. Based on her forwardness from the night before, Frank walked over and put an arm around her waist and attempted to kiss her.

Marissa shoved Frank away and slapped him. “What are you doing dweeb?”

“Um…” Frank was stunned by the outburst. He tried to play it cool but wasn’t sure if he pulled it off or not. “I was just saying hello. No need to be all bent out of shape over it.”

“And why would you think I’d want you to say hello to me like that? You’re not my boyfriend.” Marissa glared.

“Well...after what happened...I thought…” Frank’s words were interrupted by a shout.

“Yo, Clay! I wanna talk to you,” Jimmy Danvers the school’s quarterback called as he quickly strode over toward Marissa and Clay.

From the quarterback’s face he was upset over something and Frank couldn’t figure out what it was. The look on Marissa’s face though clued him in. She beamed with a hint of smugness in her smile as she watched Jimmy storm toward them. The penny dropped for him then. He’d been played. He turned to face the quarterback as he reached them. He decided to play it cool and try to keep it calm.

“Hey, Jimmy. What can I do for you?” Frank asked casually.

“What you can do for me? Well for starters you can explain to me why you’re with my girl? Then you can explain why I’m hearing rumors of you making time with her.” Jimmy glared at the younger teen.

Frank gave a sheepish grin while he rubbed the back of his neck, “Aw, man you caught us. Seems like Marissa here was having some stagefright last night during the game. I found her under the bleachers bawling her eyes out like a little baby.” He looked at Marissa daring her to say something. “She fucking latched on to me like a leech, man, when I showed some gentlemanly concern. I tried my best to comfort her but you know how leeches are man. They just latch on and don’t let go while they suck you dry of what they want.” Frank turned back to Jimmy, “I was finally able to calm her down and helped her get straightened out to head back to finish the game. She was quite embarrassed over it. Seems to me she’s not that stable dude. You should keep a better eye on her. Never know when she’ll get leechy again and with the wrong person.”

While the quarterback and the cheerleader looked at him in stunned disbelief he took advantage and headed home. “Laters guy and gal.”

***************

The first time Frank Clay got in trouble with the law he was sixteen. It was because of a dare and that stubbornness that he’d become famous for.

His family had just moved from Washington to California. His dad had gotten a promotion to one of the other district offices. So halfway through high school they’d had to move and six months later he was arrested for disorderly conduct, brawling. It wouldn’t be the last time it happened either. By the time he was seventeen he’d gotten a reputation as a brawler. His arguments with his parents over his behavior became worse and worse. It was one such argument a week before his eighteenth birthday that changed the course of his life.

“Franklin Clay! You bring your ass down here this instant,” Paul Clay shouted in the general direction of his son’s room.

Frank groaned and covered his eyes with his arm as the sun from his window made itself known. He tried to think what would have gotten his father’s dander up so early in the morning. He jumped when his door was unceremoniously slammed open. He peeked out from under his arm to see his father standing in the doorway with a furious look on his face. He woke up rather quickly at the sight.

“Get your lazy ass out of bed, boy. You and I need to have a discussion. If you’re not in the living room in ten minutes...so help me you won’t like what you get.” Paul glared at his son then turned and went downstairs.

Frank swallowed. He had no memory of his father ever being that pissed at him. Gingerly he got out of bed and waited for the sun to not be so offensive. He went about his morning routine minus the shower. He jumped into clean clothes. Reluctantly he headed for the living room. He paused out of sight as he heard his mother and father talking.

“What are you gonna do, Paul?” Marion asked a bit sadly.

“I don’t know but something has to be done. He’s getting out of hand. He’s restless; I can see it. But he’s not applying himself like he could. He’s willing to fly by the seat of his pants without thinking of the consequences, Marion. He’s capable of being more than what he’s being and I don’t know how to get that through his thick skull,” Paul started sadly, but as he spoke his voice got angrier. “He’s due to graduate soon and he needs to make a choice. He’s going to have to do something with his life, otherwise… I won’t tolerate his behavior anymore.”

“What do you suggest? I don’t think college is the answer. He barely tolerates school as is. He doesn’t show an interest in any one thing that can lead to a career,” Marion spoke worriedly. “How’s he going to make a living?”

Frank could just imagine his mother’s face, all sad and her hands twisting around each other as she spoke. He felt bad for making his mom worry so much. But he was sick and tired of hearing them say how special he was because he hadn’t died at birth. He didn’t want to hear anymore about how he was meant to do great things because he’d survived. He wanted to live his life without their expectations of his supposedly special greatness. He took a deep breath and entered the living room to face the music and lecture once again.

Paul looked at his son, inspecting him for a sign of what he had no clue. “I got a letter from your principal in the mail this morning. He says that your grades are borderline failing and if you don’t shape up you won’t graduate with the rest of your class.” He stared at his son to see what reaction his words got but Frank was one that had kept things close to the vest since he hit puberty. Paul gave an internal sigh. “As of this moment you are grounded for the rest of the school year. No car, no going out with friends, nothing. You will bring your grades up and graduate on time. When you graduate you will get a job if college is not what you want to do. While you live under this roof you will follow these rules. Are we clear?”

Frank noted how serious his father was about the whole thing. School wasn’t a problem; he could easily get his grades up. The problem was he didn’t want to put that much effort into something that had no real meaning. He wanted what he did to mean something to him and others when he did it. He’d have to figure something out between now and graduation. But for the immediate future he answered the only way he could, “Yes, sir.”

Two weeks after graduating high school, Franklin Clay was on his way to Army boot camp. He had a new mark on his hip superimposed over the mule mark that had gone opaque. It was a bulldog smoking a cigar with a beret on its head.

***************

Franklin Clay, now simply known as Clay, had a turbulent army career. He had many dips in and out of the discipline well. His charm, the fact he was a good soldier and that he got the shit done kept him out of the most severe trouble. But it also landed him on the higher ups’ radar. Overall he excelled in the Army. All the restlessness from the past eased and the focus he had looked for came.

Clay had made it to the rank of Corporal in record time and sailed through Ranger training. His mule marking had pretty much faded away and the bulldog had moved to his left bicep where it stood out proudly. To the surprise of many people Clay not only passed the training but excelled at it. The brass kept a closer eye on him even more than before. The attention didn’t bother Clay and he carried on in his usual manner. He showed an exceptional talent for leadership, though in an unconventional manner. Any man that served with Franklin Clay either loved him or hated him. Most who hated Clay, did so because of his involvement with a female.

Just before Clay’s twenty-third  birthday a silver oak leaf located on his right bicep showed up. Six months later he ended up with a field promotion to second lieutenant after his squad had been ambushed. As a staff sergeant Clay was the highest ranking in his unit. They’d completed their objective under his leadership. He even managed to bring the rest of the squad home a little worse for wear. Shortly after he turned twenty-three he was assigned to Delta Force Operations.

***************

By twenty-five Clay had made it to the rank of captain, and a stylized heart wrapped in barbed wire with a dagger through it appeared on his chest. A few months later he met Sergeant William Roque in a bar brawl.

“Hey that’s my girl you got there,” a man yelled as he approached Clay’s table.

Clay looked at the young lady sitting on his lap. “You know this punk?” When she shook her head no Clay’s attention returned to the guy. “I’m sorry but seems you’ve mistaken her for someone else.” He returned to whispering sweet nothings into her ear.

“Come on Charlotte, we’re leaving.” The guy grabbed the girl’s arm and attempted to pull her away. Before he could even manage to get her an inch off Clay’s lap his wrist was gripped in a vice like squeeze causing him to let her arm go.

“I believe the lady prefers to not be in your company. Go find someone else if you’re that desperate.” Clay moved the guy backwards as he shifted the girl on his lap into a nearby chair. Clay faced down the idiot that had interrupted his flirtation of the lovely redhead he was currently with and noted the guy’s pale face get ruddy. His instincts told him the guy wasn’t about to let this go, so he wasn’t surprised when the idiot took a swing at him that he blocked.

“Really? You’re gonna do this over a piece of tail?” Clay asked quietly so as not to have the girl overhear.

“Don’t you call her that. She’s my girl and you ain’t got no right to call her anything. Let alone be touchin’ her.” The guy growled and rushed Clay, who just went with it and flipped the guy over his head and onto his back.

Clay popped back up into a fighting stance a few feet away and waited for the guy’s next move. The idiot tried to charge at him again. Clay sidestepped and planted a blow to a side that caused him to crash into a nearby table where a dark, deadly and lethal looking man was seated.

“What the fuck, man?” the man exclaimed as he got out of his seat. Clay could tell the man was taller than he was. The man grabbed the idiot and shook him. “You asshole. You spilled my drink.” He then punched the guy in the face. This precipitated the idiot’s friends coming to his aid which obligated Clay to join in to even the odds, after all it was his fault to begin with.

Ten minutes later found Clay and the other man the only two standing with a circle of bystanders.

Clay had quickly learned that his fellow winner was a vicious and dirty fighter. The two had worked well together and in short order had managed to win the brawl. Knowing their welcome was most definitely rescinded Clay grabbed the man by the arm and directed him out the door before MPs or the cops arrived. With a nod from the other man, Clay led the way.

Once they’d exited the bar and had walked a couple of blocks. Clay looked back at the dark man, “Buy you a beer?”

The dark man gave him an ‘are you for real’ look and then shrugged. “Sure, hope you got enough. Especially since that townie caused me to work up a thirst.” He gave Clay a smirk.

“Clay. Frank Clay.” He tilted his head to the left. “There’s another bar not too far from here. I think it’s one I haven’t been banned from this month.”

“Roque,” was the reply as he followed the other man toward the bar. “Do you get banned from bars often.”

“More often than I’d like, but yeah.” Clay gave him the best ‘it’s not my fault’ look he could muster with his current split lip. Causing Roque to bark out a laugh at the attempt.

They arrived at the bar in short order and the two commandeered a couple of stools near one end of the bar in the back. Clay got the bartender’s attention and gestured for two beers. He took a sip of his beer when it arrived then glanced at Roque. “Soldier but not regular Army I gather.”

Roque returned the statement with a smile that was all teeth and tipped his bottle up with a salute as he drank deeply. Clay chuckled. “Where are you stationed?”

“I’m in between assignments while the brass decides where to put me next,” Roque said with an impatient growl. “I’m a guest of the local base until then. And you?” He tipped his beer toward Clay inquiring.

“Same here. There’s been some talk about giving me my own team but no one seems to agree on when. So I keep going with whoever they send me out with,” Clay answered.

Roque lifted his beer in a toast. “Here’s to the brass getting their head out of their ass and putting us to good use.”

“Amen to that.” Clay said and saluted with his own beer.

Two weeks later Captain Franklin Clay was given the roster for his new team: three greenies and one second lieutenant William Roque, his new second-in-command.

*************

At twenty-eight Clay found a crown on top of the letter L on his chest right over his heart. His heart and dagger marking moved to the right hand side of it. A couple of months later for the first time in his life more than one mark appears at the same time. On the left side of the L there’s a dog driving a jeep and right below it but more toward the center of the bottom is a gun shaped out of what looks like computer code. Three months later he finds out why.

Clay stands at attention if front of Colonel Peplinski’s desk. The officer’s appearance is slim and unassuming but his reputation said he was a mean S.O.B. That reputation alone made Clay leery of being summoned to the man’s office.

“At ease,” the colonel waved. “I’ve got two new members for you, which works out perfect since two members of your squad came in to request transfers.” Clay cringed inwardly. “Something about traumatic encounters with knives.” The colonel glared at Clay knowingly.

“Since the two you’re getting were requested to be transferred out of their unit. I figured I’ll give them to you.” Peplinski looked down at the two folders in front of him. One was exceptionally light considering they were being assigned to a Delta squad. “They’re both unique cases. Each one is the best in their field. Some would even say exceptional but their personality quirks don’t seem to work well with most units.” The colonel picked up the thicker of the two. “Linwood Porteous prefers to go by Pooch. He’s an expert mechanic, driver, pilot. You name it and he can fly it, drive it, sail it and if nothing’s available he’d build it. He’s considered a magician when it comes to vehicles or anything mechanical.”

“What’s the catch sir? If he’s that good why is he considered unfit for most units?” Clay asked.

“The man likes to talk about himself in the third person. He even talks to a bobble-head chihuahua he carries for luck. On more than one occasion the man has hurt teammates when they’ve...attempted to break him of the superstition.” Peplinski shook his head at the idiocy of the idea. “The docs have all certified that he’s not a psyche case and that it’s his coping mechanisms. But either way he’s not the one to truly worry about.” The colonel dropped the thinner file on top of Porteous’.

“That file belongs to your new techie, Jacob Jensen. He’s considered one of the top ten, if not top five, hackers in the world but you’d never be able to prove it.” The colonel pinched the bridge of his nose behind the standard issue glasses he wore. “What’s in that file is what I’ve been able to collect in hardcopy from his previous COs. Jensen’s the best tech we’ve got but he’s not adverse to letting a CO know when he thinks they’re being stupid. The boy’s been written up for insubordination so many times it’s gotten to a point where most don’t even bother anymore. Anything sent on him electronically tends to go missing outside of normal administrative paperwork. He gets into trouble but after he does whatever punishment they deem fit, the electronic trail disappears.” Peplinski sighed. “Both of them are yours now. If you can’t handle them then their next stop is back to civie status.” The colonel handed Clay the two files.

Clay knows a dismissal when he doesn’t hear it. “Yes sir.” He took the two files, saluted the colonel. At the colonel’s nod he left the office.

When Clay exited the building he found Roque waiting for him under the shade of a tree. His second got to his feet like a jungle cat waking from a nice nap and ready for the hunt. “New orders?” Roque asked.

“New teammates. Seems the other two didn’t appreciate your lessons in knife maintenance and how to determine whether it’s sharp enough.” Clay smirked as he started to walk toward the barracks.

“They were pansies. Who the hell doesn’t like a nice close shave. That’s the best way to test them.” Roque’s smile was all teeth as he fell in step with Clay. “So who do we have as our next targets? I mean teammates.”

“Our new wheelman and mechanic is Sergeant Linwood ‘Pooch’ Porteous. With a name like Linwood I’d prefer Pooch too.” Clay handed over the file to Roque after skimming it. “Next is our truly troublesome techie Corporal Jacob Jensen. Each time he gets promoted he gets busted down back to corporal. According to the files we’ll find them at 8’s barracks.” Clay handed over Jensen’s folder after noting the many repetitions of the same things. Jensen’s insubordinate, hyper and talkative with supposedly no sense of situational awareness. The oddest part about it all was that he’d gotten two commendations for bravery and leadership. Which meant there was more to Jensen than anyone saw.

“What are we like the special ed now instead of special forces.” Roque complained.

“I think we’re the last stop before they get booted. From their records each one of them were excellent soldiers and everything but then all of a sudden Pooch starts talking in third person. Jensen’s a bit more off. He’s not one for rules and regulations - and yet he joined the military, an institution rife with rules and regulations.” Clay thought it out for a bit while he walked. “I think in Jensen’s case it’s a matter of needing the rules and regulations there so he doesn’t go too far beyond them and hurt anyone unintentionally. Then again I’m not a shrink and my psych evals aren’t that normal either. So I could be totally wrong,” Clay finished.

A block away from the battalion 8’s barracks Clay and Roque heard a big whoosh sound. It wasn’t quite an explosion but they saw a huge white cloud appear from behind their destination. They both ran toward it and around back and saw a crowd gathered. They pushed their way through to the middle where they found their two new teammates grinning like maniacs.

“Told you it would work if you built it the way I told you to,” a blond, wearing NSI glasses and a bright pink shirt with a purple flower with the words ‘Petunias’ under it, exclaimed to his friend. “Come on Poochman, you can’t tell me that wasn’t an epic blow. I told you we could get it to blow higher than the building.”

“The Pooch don’t want to know how you knew that. Then again, J, you are one crazy white boy. But the Pooch gotta admit it was sweet,” Pooch beemed.

“Gentlemen!” Clay barked, and suddenly the crowd dispersed like they were set on fire.

Pooch turned, startled, and quickly stood at attention. Jensen was just a tad slower.

“On second thought, it’s not special ed but nanny sitting,” Roque grumbled quietly to Clay.

Clay shot Roque a shut up side eye look. “I’m assuming you two are Corporal Jensen and Sargent Porteous. If you are, then I am your new CO Lieutenant Colonel Franklin Clay.” Clay pointed at Roque. “This is your new XO, Captain William Roque.” Clay looked around at the mess the two have made and noticed it was just soda and candy. He wondered how they got such a huge bang. He shook his head to stop that thought. “Clean up this mess and grab your kit. Report to this address.” Clay took a pen and wrote down their on-base housing address. “Be there by 1800, or else.”

*************

After their first mission together as an official team, Clay knew he’d be keeping them - even if Roque kept threatening Jensen with cutting out his tongue. They were all flawed soldiers but they worked well together.

*************

A year later Clay woke up to find another tattoo circling the L. With the inclusion of the mountain lion that had its own tattoo of a bleeding heart with a sniper reticle in the middle, the space is complete. Clay looked at his most prominent mark, which seemed to be made up of his team. A team that was his, and with this newest addition, it finally looked complete and right. Clay wondered who their newest teammate will be but he knows it’s all in due time.

Clay doesn’t have long to wait. Two weeks later one of the other squad leaders comes up to him holding a file. He looks up from his office desk, “What’s up Welch?” Clay can tell the man’s angling for a favor or cashing in on one.

“I’ve got a problem child. You seem to do well with them.” Welch shuffles on his feet minutely. “You’ve managed to limit Jensen’s damage and rein him in. On top of that Roque hasn’t skinned him yet.” Welch grins in amusement.

“So what does your problem child have to do with me?” Clay cut to the chase, knowing that no matter what, he’d take the kid. It just didn’t pay to make it easy for others to ask.

Welch sighed. “You need a sniper and I happen to have one. He’s the top of his field. If I remember correctly, he’s fourth or fifth ranking amongst snipers. But he’s on his way to a psych discharge. He doesn’t talk unless spoken to and even then it’s in monosyllables or grunts. Every team he’s been on in the last six months noted he’s eerily silent and creeps them out. They’re about to change his nickname from Cougar to Ghost.”

Clay sat up, startled. “You’re talking about Alvarez. Last I heard he and his unit had gotten wiped in an ambush. Didn’t know he’d survived.” Clay wondered about the man he knew by reputation.

“That’s the thing. He was the only one to make it back, barely alive. He was suffering heat exhaustion, and had two bullet wounds in his side and left leg.” Welch took off his cap and ran a hand through his hair. “How he survived is a miracle. He hasn’t really spoken much to anyone since. Psych was able to get a debrief out of him, but it was the barebones of the mission. Nothing more. He’s shut down.” Welch looked at Clay. “Your team are tough sons of bitches and you always manage. He needs that surety. I think a part of him doesn’t think he made it out. It would be a waste of a damn good sniper and man if he gave in to that doubt,” Welch finished sadly.

Clay knew exactly what Welch was talking about; the moments when dreams seemed so real and to go on forever that you don’t ever believe you’re awake when you are. “I’ll take him.”

When the rest of the team met Sergeant Carlos ‘Cougar’ Alvarez, Jensen immediately adopted him with the words “Ooooh, Clay you got me a kitty.” From that moment on the two were practically inseparable. Jensen filled the silence for Cougar and, slowly, the man Alvarez once was peeked through the man he’d become. If Cougar was a bit more enthusiastic about watching their backs from afar they didn’t mind. It meant they’d all come home together.

************

It took Clay a couple years to figure out what the crowned L meant. The only reason he figured it out was because he’d overheard himself being discussed by the brass and others as King of the Losers. Instead of being insulted he embraced the title with pride.

**************

Clay is thirty-six when something strange happens. Over the course of a few months, his death’s head tattoo morphs into a full blown Grim Reaper; sickle, robes and all. Days before he’s due to go out on a mission to Bolivia, his Lovers Card and Grim Reaper tattoos change. There’s now a hungry looking jackal standing next to the lovers and his Grim Reaper turns into a puppet on strings. He has no idea what it means, but he’s got a bad feeling about their next mission.

Clay pulls on his tac vest and buckles it. He hears the call for their flight. “All right Losers, mount up. We’re wheels up in fifteen.”

Clay watches as his men get their gear. Jensen is shadowing Cougar  and ,as usual talking non-stop. Cougar is answering in his quiet way. Pooch kisses his wedding ring and tucks it into his shirt. Roque stares at him with an inquisitive eyebrow, sensing Clay’s mood. Clay shakes his head slightly, and Roque uncurls his massive frame to grab his gear and yell at Jensen to shut up already. Clay follows behind - worried but not too much. This is a cakewalk mission. Get in, blow up, get out. They’ll be fine. They’ll always be fine because they’re more than a team… they’re family.

 


End file.
